Sunday, August 17, 2008

I climbed the stairs from the parking garage, emerging onto the street-level sidewalk next to the theater and walked toward the entrance.

Hey Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better.

I heard her singing and when I turned to look directly at her I wondered how I had missed her in the first place. She was standing behind an open guitar case, smiling with the nervous confidence that only a 12 year old girl can muster: acutely aware of the attention, but also immortal.

Remember to let her into your heart.

She was singing "Hey Jude" with that same self-aware immortality: her voice was pitched loudly enough to carry down the sidewalk, but it cracked, and popped a little. Unwilling or unable to stop singing she rushed across those nervous notes, the sound warping a little as she fought to articulate the words in spite of the grin that took over her face.

Then you can start to make it better.

Her hands were clasped tightly behind her back, and she sang without swaying, her neck arching and chin dropping as she came over the top of the high notes, powering through long phrases by singing from her gut, not her shoulders. She had worked hard for this, to sing, wherever it was. Tonight it was behind an open guitar case.

Hey Jude don't be afraid. You were made to go out and get her.

Not alone. The man to her left in the denim shirt, the ponytail of greyed hair pulled back from a deeply receding hairline, strumming the guitar formerly housed in the mostly empty guitar case, and gazing at her with smiling eyes as he hit harmonic points, was clearly her father. He had the confidence of an old performer, but one who was enthralled by the experience of seeing someone he loved, helped, created, step up and perform on her own. He loved his Sidewalk Star, and his pride in her was infectious. I was proud of her myself.

The minute you let her under your skin

I was leaning against the wall outside the theater, Tweeting or reading an e-mail on my Blackberry as I waited to go inside and drop $20 on a movie on one of my rare nights off. And I was listening, raptly, as were so many of the people on the sidewalk. But I wasn't just listening to the song; that wasn't what was keeping my attention. I was experiencing an aspect of parenthood that I've only had small tastes of, so far: pride in choices, in hard work, in effort, in caring.

Then you begin to make it better.

I see a lot more of these father-daughter moments now, it seems, these little previews of my future with Erin. I don't know if I will ever be able to pull off a pony tail or denim shirt (well, another denim shirt; I've had my fair share, but it was the 90's, and in Canada), but I can certainly see myself strumming the strings, literally or metaphorically, in a soft accompaniment to whatever it is she has chosen to do. Showing her off to the world for the woman she is promising to be.

A woman stood up from where she had been sitting against a lamp post nearby. She stepped behind the case, next to the girl, and added her alto voice, smoothing out the slight choppiness of the girl's soprano with a mother's loving confidence, knowing that the girl could sound even more beautiful if she believed it, and knowing that believing it meant recreating those times when she believed it most, at home, before dinner, before the television was turned on. She was the sensible counterpoint to her husband's shining, blind enthusiasm.

Don't carry the world upon your shoulders.

And listening now to that family, created for me out on the sidewalk as I was on my way to see a movie, I had to do something to let them know that their song, their evening, their intimate sharing, had not been lost on me.

Well don't you know that it's a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder.

So I walked over to them, pulled my hand out of my pocket, and dropped my twenty in the guitar case. Not because I thought they needed the money or had earned the money or because I wanted to patronize the busking arts, but because I knew that she would know that she had done something special, and she would gush about it with her father, and he could be proud of her all over again because he knows, from experience, how rare it is for someone to do more than toss a couple of quarters in the case.

Hey Jude don't let her down. You have found her now go and get her.

I dropped the bill in because I saw Erin standing there, and I saw myself standing there, and I saw Emily standing there, and I wanted to do something for our future selves. It's probably a good thing that I wasn't carrying a hundred dollar bill with me, because Erin's voice, that voice I hear in my head when I think her, was directing all of my thinking.

And don't you know that it's just you, hey, Jude, you'll do, the movement you need is on your shoulder.

"Have a good night, guys,"said Erin's voice through my mouth as I released the bill and turned to walk into the theater.

57 comments:

ok I am about to go to bed, crawl in with my just brand new 2 year old as of yesterday and hug her while she sleeps, because of everything you said and didn't say.. for all those moments I am going to be able to experience in the future and all those moments I have already been so lucky to have already felt.

Wow - thank you for writing such a beautiful post. I hope there are wonderful people like you around to show support for my children as they grow older, and to share the beauty of such a simple moment with everyone.

Just a warning... as she gets a little older, your scope of awareness widens too. Eventually you'll notice petulant teenagers and have thoughts like, "I swear to God if she does that, I am going to lose my shit just like that father did. I don't care if mall security comes for me."

beautiful post, BPD. your writing is heartfelt and heart-warming... and interesting because you can capture and explain not only what happened, but why it mattered to you... and you turn that personal relevance into something that others can relate to. that is *not something that comes easily-- i certainly haven't been able to do it! so thanks for the inspiration!

Just one of the many reasons I don't carry a lot of cash with me. It's true that the more you experience, the more you place yourself in others shoes. I think it's great you gave that little girl such a boost!

You are so awesome. I will tell you that constantly, and you know this. What I can't wait for is the day Erin tells you that. I'm sure you get a sense of it from her, but when she professes it, the bright world will be much more so.

This was such a great post. Your writing is truly wonderful, a pleasure to read. I'm glad you're sharing it with us.

Also? That goal we talked about last night? I think it's safe to say mission accomplished! I mean, mine are still intact, but still...

We were at the beach yesterday and a Mom was lying on her towel and her daughter ran towards the ocean...and then came back and put her arm around her mom and laid with her. And played with her hair. That's how your post made me feel. Like I can't wait to be a Dad.

As a brand spanking new mommy, I've discovered I have a fragile little heart when it comes to all things daughterly. And that post just cracked my little heart in twain. Going to fix my mascara and hug my bean now...

the moosh just wrote her name for the first time a few months ago. A week ago she figured out how to put on her own DVD.Prepare for you life to become beyond full of these proud little moments with Erin, and good hell write them down. Along with stuff like this.

You've probably heard it before, but...I'm banking on the old adage, "A son is a son 'til he takes a wife. A daughter's a daughter for the rest of your life." I've got my two girls, and I sure hope it works out that way with them.

Loved this post. And with that, it's time to get some shut-eye. Sheesh.

I can tell you you made that girl's night. Her whole weekend, most likely. It's funny how being a parent, I am swallowed up in pride often enough for someone else's kid as much as my own, whose accomplishments thus far are, of course, more modest at a mere four years. The Olympics, of course, are killing me.

That was very touching. I've been reading your blog for a bit, but never commented. You have a lot of good things to say, and I just wanted to let you know that I appreciate them. My husband and I don't have kids yet, but when the time comes, we'll be in your situation too (I'll go to work while he stays at home, plus he's a super geek too!). Thanks, that was a great post.

Wow -Anymommy picked a winner for the post of the week. I think I'm in love - oh, sorry guess that is inappropriate being that I am married and all. Okay let me say I am in love with the way your words jump off of the page and bring the scene you witnessed into reality for all of us.

Excellent work Dude. My daughter of 15 went busking on the streets of Tel Aviv. Someone gave her 100 sheks ($30). I could never understand why. I thought it was perhaps because the lady was afraid she was homeless, or maybe because blackdaughtero looked like her grand-daughter. Whatever the reason - it changed her. Once she got over the shock, she felt a little ashamed as she had a nice warm house, good food and loving family to come home to. I would love to be able to say she gave the money to the first homeless person she saw, but I think she spent it on cigarettes.